Erik's Little Dividends
by gravity01
Summary: He never wanted it. Them. He never wanted one… much less two of them. It wasn’t fair, Erik decided. He had only just gotten Christine all to himself and now… this.
1. Birth

He never wanted it. Them. He never wanted _one_… much less _two _of them.

It wasn't fair, Erik decided. He had only just gotten Christine all to himself and now… _this_.

Not even a year since they had married--one year and two weeks since Christine had abandoned her perfectly handsome, _safe _vicomte for an occasionally sane criminal who is ugly as sin--that she had discovered that she was pregnant.

By nature, Erik was a selfish man. He never bothered to dispute the fact, nor did he make any apologies for it. He reasoned that someone who had to fight tooth and nail for even the basic comforts of life was exempt from the social obligation to… _share_. Even the very word disgusted him.

And now he was going to have to. With _twins_. And that was only the best case scenario. He was still not completely convinced that Christine was not going to wake up one day and leave him. And now that he had two more rivals for her love… he was almost positive.

He had been trying his best to keep his… reservations… to himself. He didn't want to upset Christine. If he was going to keep her after this, he couldn't afford to lose any points. And he was determined not to give up his wife without a fight.

But twins would be difficult. If there was only one, he could make it disappear rather easily. But with _two_… that would be complicated if not impossible to accomplish without Christine suspecting anything.

Frankly, he could not understand why Christine was so excited. From the beginning, they have been causing her nothing but pain. There was the stomach… unpleasantness… in the beginning… not to mention all the leg cramps and dizziness that followed a few weeks after.

Of course, Erik took each of her discomforts in stride, caring for her as meticulously as he always had… despite the fact that each episode threw him into a raging panic.

And then… that agonizing couple of weeks toward the end when she had been confined to bed rest. She had come to him--afraid that he'd be _angry_, of all things--and told him that she had been bleeding. His heart nearly stopped… even the assuring words of the midwife hadn't settled his spinning head. _There is no need to worry, sir. This happens all the time with young mothers. I am sure your wife will be just fine. She just needs to stay off her feet for the remainder of her pregnancy. _

Even_ if_ his own selfishness and fear had not given him enough cause to hate the parasite growing inside her… the fact that it caused his precious wife to suffer made him want to do something… unforgivable. If there had been a way to do so without injuring Christine, he might have been rid of it long ago.

But he could not… and here they were… on the day that 'it' became 'them'.

Even now, the parasites were causing her pain. Not even born yet and they were giving her more pain than his innocent girl had ever experienced.

Briefly, Erik wondered if he had caused his own mother this much pain the unfortunate day _he _entered the world. It didn't matter, he decided. He had done worse things.  
_  
Now that is a thought to ponder…_

He quickly banished notions of his own hypocrisy. There were other things to worry about at present… like the fact that his wife could very well be _dying _in the next room.

The midwife seemed confident that everything would progress normally. However he couldn't stop thinking of the words he'd overheard Christine telling the woman. She thought he'd completely left the room, but he had been taking his time, wanting to stay with her as long as possible.

"If you have to choose… save my baby," she whispered, wincing in pain and panting heavily.

_Oh no, you don't, Christine. _ Erik thought, absolutely horrified. He could not even believe that his wife would suggest such a thing. He would give her more children, if it was so important… but there was only one Christine. They had been through so much… he was not about to lose her.

He peeked inside the room and motioned for the midwife to come over. The woman instructed her young assistant to continue laying out the towels and other necessities while she went to have a word with the restless husband.

Erik led the woman down the hall, not wanting to risk Christine being with earshot. When they were far enough away, he stepped close and gently took the woman's elbow.

Very calmly and softly, he said, "Whatever happens, you will see to my wife."

The older woman smiled reassuringly and said, "There is nothing to worry about, sir. I have done this a hundred times and Christine is doing just fine."

Erik's narrowed eyes were the only indication of his change of mood. He shook his head and, even softer than before, said, "No, I don't think you understand. If she dies, I shall hold you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear? If anything happens to my wife, I will see to it that everything and everyone that you love is destroyed."

The level of his voice never rose, but by the time he had finished speaking, his grip on the midwife's elbow had tightened to near bruising. The poor woman just nodded; she'd save her soothing words for Christine. Whoever this _Erik _was, he was more than just another anxious father.

He hadn't been allowed in the room, an archaic rule that he was both irritated and thankful for. It distressed him that Christine was experiencing a pain that he could not stop. On the other hand, if something happened to the baby while he was in the room, she would most definitely blame him.

_So, this is for the best_, he told himself… just before he heard high-pitched scream, even worse than the others. Just seconds after he heard her cry out, he heard another kind of cry. He let out a relieved breath and took a step towards her door when, all of a sudden, he heard her scream again.

The little assistant poked her head out. "You have a son, sir," she said nervously, "And you have another on the way!"

Erik was speechless, but the girl did not wait for a reply anyway before she shut the door again.

Then there was more screaming… and more crying… until he could hear three distinct sobs in the room. The whole thing seemed contradictory to him. If it was such a supposedly joyous occasion… why were there so many pained noises? Why was everyone crying?

Erik continued to wait impatiently until the midwife had finished cleaning up and emerged from the room.

"Congratulations, sir," she said, "Your wife did wonderfully and you have two healthy baby boys. Would you like to go see them now?"

Erik nodded, curtly dismissing the woman as he strode resolutely into the room and to his wife's bedside.

Put his hand on her forehead. "How do you feel?"

She smiled weakly, but leaned into his touch. His cold hands felt good on her face. "Tired, but otherwise well."

His eyes never strayed from her face as he kissed her hands and stroked her hair, murmuring how much he loved her and how worried he had been. She patiently allowed him to continue his ministrations and repeatedly told him that she felt fine.

When, after several minutes had passed and he still seemed oblivious to all but her own well being, Christine asked, "Would you like to see your sons?"

Erik looked wary, but Christine squeezed his hand in reassurance. Reluctantly, he released her hand and walked over to the bassinet on the other side of the bed.

"Oh, Christine…"


	2. Perfect

They were perfect.

Blond haired, blue eyed little cherubs with pink cheeks and mischievous smiles.  
_  
Disgustingly… perfect. _

Erik sneered at the little toddlers who were happily munching away on cut up pieces of toast from across the kitchen table.

He hated them… and he hated that he was so fascinated by them. It was like a disease… or a drug. It was like, ever since he had laid eyes on them eighteen months ago, he had been unable to look away.

Even back then, they were perfect. Christine had called them 'beautiful', but Erik couldn't see it. When he first looked into their crib all he could see was a couple of matching… red… monkeys. Erik chalked it up to Christine's rather elastic definition of 'beautiful'.

But still… they had twenty fingers, twenty toes, four perfect eyes… _two noses._ Everything was directly proportional and exactly as it should be. They were perfect… and Erik couldn't have possibly been more bitter about it.

Of course he could not say such a thing, especially with Christine giving him that hopeful look as she lay, exhausted, in their bed. Instead he merely held her and told her what a good girl she was.

He hated to admit it, but these little boys terrified him. The truth was… whenever he saw his perfect wife with her perfect children, he would always be reminded that _he _was the one angry, black scar marring his otherwise perfect family.

"Do you love me, Christine?" he asked, suddenly grabbing his wife's wrist as she began to collect the breakfast dishes.

Christine stopped what she was doing and took Erik's face in her hands. She kissed him lightly on the lips and said, "I love you more than ever."

His little ingénue was a far cry from the helpless child she was three years ago--at least in this sense. Erik had a feeling she would always his innocent girl, still needing his protection. But she had become more intuitive, more understanding. Despite the fact that Erik had asked her to affirm her love practically a million times over the last year and a half, since the twins were born, she would always stop what she was doing and patiently soothe his doubts.

But that did not stop the doubts from popping up every now and again. Whenever she cooed over one of them, telling him that he was a good boy and that she loved him very much, Erik could only stalk out of the room and brood. Erik liked to brood. He was quite good at it, too… probably from all the practice.

And whenever she left him in bed alone because she heard one of them crying, he ground his teeth. Was it his fault that they were too cowardly to sleep without crying out for Mama? Erik couldn't sleep without Christine either… but that was completely different.

He knew he was never like that as a child. He never cried… and never called for his mother unless it was _absolutely _necessary.

Then again… he learned early on that she would probably not answer anyway.

But the worst of all was when it was his turn to watch them. Erik swore… absolutely _swore_… that, as soon as he got a chance, he would do away with little brats permanently. He had given it a lot of thought. He could make it look like an accident. Christine would be upset, of course, but she would turn to him for comfort.

But then… when she shoved a squirming little boy in his arms so she could bathe or dress or whatever feminine things Erik wanted to know nothing about, he could not bring himself to do anything harmful to it. Without fail, the otherwise active baby would snuggle into him, finding some sort of cushion on his bony lap.

There was another reason, too. They were part of Christine, you see. Everything that came from Christine was special… even the twins. The fact that they were also his… spawn… was a technicality that he was constantly trying to wipe from his mind.

It could be worse, he supposed… they could belong to… _him_.

_No! Do not let your mind go there,_ he scolded himself as the image of the vicomte flickered through his head. Such thoughts were dangerous, even if they were only in the hypothetical sense. She was his now. The only ones he risked losing her now were those perfect baby boys that he couldn't bring himself to get rid of.

He tried everything! He wanted them to scream or cry or… do _something _to convince Erik that they were evil and deserved some sort of retribution. But everything seemed to backfire! He said nasty things to them, but his voice just made them fall asleep or, worse, sing along. He took off his mask, but they just grinned back at him and patted his cheeks with sticky hands.

Eventually the father and sons would tire of trying to terrify and play with each other--respectively--and resort to reading architectural journals until all three fell asleep.

On Christine's part, she could see nothing more endearing than coming out of the bathroom and seeing her husband asleep, with one baby on his chest and the other curled up beside him on the couch.

To Erik's fortune, Christine was always _very _appreciative whenever he babysat.

So… at least they were good for _something_.


	3. Lessons

"Absolutely not!"

"Erik! This is important! We have to do _something_."

"Think of something else. I am not giving them lessons."

"Then what would you suggest? They are out of control, Erik. They are too smart for their own good and they need somewhere to focus their energy."

"And why is that Erik's problem?"

"They're your sons, Erik."

He clapped his hands over his ears. "NO! No… they are Christine's sons! Erik cannot have children… he will break them. Christine does not want Erik to ruin her children."

Christine gently pulled Erik's hands down and held them in hers. "Is that what you think, Erik? That you will hurt them? Erik, there is nobody who could possibly understand those boys better than you. I don't know what to do with them--believe me, I have tried everything--but haven't you noticed how alike you are?"

"I am sorry," he moaned, "Erik is sorry."

"Erik…" she sighed. Living with the masked man had given her an extraordinary amount of patience over the years… but she was feeling a little stretched right now. "Don't be sorry. There is nothing wrong with you and there is nothing wrong with them. But, don't you remember what it was like to be six years old? To be a genius with a head full of ideas and no concept of discipline?"

He grunted crossed his arms.

"What would I teach them?" he asked, trying a different tack.

It was a legitimate question, really. The boys had inherited Erik's curious and obsessive natures and, as he himself had done as a child, became their own teachers.

Ever since they could read, they gobbled up books of all genres. They soaked up knowledge as quickly as the could manage and only sought Erik or Christine's help when they were totally lost.

Of course, Christine was thrilled at their ambition and happily explained the answer they were looking for. Erik, on the other hand, merely glared and pointed at a section of books on the shelf before going back to his own work.

Oddly enough, it was their father's help they requested the most.

Erik, on his part, would grumble and complain about the nuisances of children… but he always kept his desk stocked with paper and pens, brought home new books every week, and even purchased two very fine violins (spares, he called them), which he stored in the boy's room.

"They're bored, Erik," Christine countered. "Haven't you ever been bored?"

"No, of course not. I keep busy. I play music… I build things…"

"Oh? And what did you build last time you were bored?"

He mumbled. "I… ah… a torture chamber…"

"You see!" she cried, exasperated.

"Ah-ha… you see, Christine? You _haven't_ tried everything!"

Christine frowned for a second until she realized what he was suggesting. Horrified, she gasped, "Erik! I am not putting my children in your torture chamber."

She wasn't always sure if Erik was joking or not, which worried Christine immensely.

But the problem remained that the twins were nearly impossible to discipline. Time-outs didn't work--it just gave them ideas. Separating them didn't work, either, because time alone with their thoughts meant they'd have twice as many mischievous plots as soon as they got to collaborate again.

Even spanking was pointless. Erik, having an overabundance of childhood traumas in his memory, refused to beat his children…and the boys seemed to think it was funny when Christine did it.

But Christine wasn't ready to try the torture chamber just yet.

The parents stopped their argument when they noticed how unnervingly silent the house was. A few seconds later, they heard a loud 'thud', followed by triumphant shouts and one exclamation of "see, I told you it would work!".

"I'll think about it," Erik said as Christine left to check for injuries and broken valuables.

Erik shrugged and turned back to his piano. He was married to the only 'valuable' worth protecting, and any injuries they sustained were there own bloody fault. He was certainly not going to come running just because one of the little monkeys misjudged the distance from the top of the bookshelf to the floor. They'd figure it out soon enough.

The real secret was--and while Erik would deny under pain of torture--he would check up on them most nights, as they slept… just to be sure there was nothing seriously wrong.

--

As Erik's family and library had expanded, he eventually had to purchase another bookshelf. It was really quite a project, reorganizing everything to fit properly. But he didn't mind; the repetition was relaxing and gave his mind time to process.

Perhaps he should become a teacher. On the one hand, he was nervous of the risk. If he was too involved in their lives, would they turn out like him? Perhaps it would be better for him to continue to keep his distance.

On the other hand… he didn't want them to be idiots.

Besides that, part of him knew that he would not be able to stay aloof forever. As the twins got older, they pulled away from their mother more and more. That is not to say they did not adore Christine. They were the epitome of good, respectful boys… which was fortunate--if they made his wife cry, they'd find themselves a new home at the bottom of the lake.

No… they loved her very much. But, much to Erik's chagrin, they were more interested in drawing close to their father. And they were as persistent as he was. The truth remained that he could not ignore them forever.  
_  
If _Erik chose to teach them, he would be thorough. Did Christine realize this? Had it occurred to her that he might teach them things that she did not want them to learn? He refused to offer any less--if for no other reason that they would attempt to figure these things out on their own. That's what he would have done anyway. No, if Erik took charge of the boys' education, there would be no compromises.

Erik was afraid. He hated to admit it, but he was very afraid. So many things could go wrong. How would Christine react if he accepted and something bad happened? Would she hate him?

Then again, how would she react if he refused her? He never refused her anything before. She was his queen, and he would do anything to please her. Even this.

He sighed. No good could come from his involvement in the children's lives.

Erik had always been a touch paranoid; except for those obsessive periods of creativity when he locked himself away and was oblivious to the world, he always kept an ear and eye out for danger.

However, now he was so involved in his reflection that he began to neglect his surroundings… which was why he was caught totally caught by surprise when he heard a war-cry, followed by a weight on his back and a pair of arms around his neck.

Erik's instinct took control and, with reflexes honed by a life under attack, he flipped the culprit over his shoulder and pinned him to the wall.

"PAPA!" a voice cried.

He recognized the voice belonging to his son, standing beside him. Erik looked then to the body he had trapped against the wall, held by the shirt collar, his little feet dangling far over the floor.

His other son.

Instantly, Erik released him and the boy dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. The whole encounter last but a few seconds, but it was enough. Five seconds was enough to ruin his life.

There was an eternity of silence, in which he could only stare at the boys who looked at him with wide eyes and dropped jaws.

This was it. His life was over. Erik had done his best over the past six years to not give Christine a reason to choose between them. When it came down to it, no matter how hard he had tried to keep Christine's love… if it was a competition between him and the children, he had no doubt who would win out.

And it had finally happened. The day had come when Christine would take her perfect children and leave.

Instinct told him to run… or lash out. Instinct told him to leave before anyone had a chance to hurt him. Or hurt them first. Or trap them.

But he couldn't do it. For the second time in his life, he would choose to be noble. He would let them go, just as he had let Christine go all those years ago. It would kill him… but he deserved the pain.

But… the boys deserved an explanation.

"Boys, I--"

"_Woah_…" they both breathed, looking at each other. Then they turned to Erik with a look of wonder on their little faces. "Can you teach _us _to do that?"

Erik paused. That… hadn't been the response he'd expected. Not by far. Christine's concerns were finally starting to make sense.

He considered them without speaking for awhile.

"Take a seat, boys," he said, pulling some books off the shelf. "School starts right now."


	4. Family Secret

Erik never knew how eerie it was to have strange noises coming from his workshop until he was not the one making them.  
_  
"…O zittre nicht, mein lieber Sohn!"_

"Wait!" Erik stopped playing and looked up at Christine.

"I'm sorry, Erik, I--" Christine started. Her music lessons were going so well, lately and found herself surprised and slightly embarrassed that Erik had cut her off so abruptly.

He dismissed her apology with an impatient wave of his hand. "Shh…" he said, "Listen, Christine… can you hear that?"

She stopped and listened. Whatever it is that was bothering him, she couldn't hear it. "What is it?"

"You can't hear it? That whirring?"

Suddenly there was a loud crash followed by some thumps, scrapes, and loud whispers.

"No, but I did hear _that_," Christine said, quickly walking around the piano. Just as she put her hand on the door, it flew open and a little blond haired boy darted in, ducking straight under her arm.

"We need you in the workshop, Father." he said quickly. His cheeks were bright pink and he was panting slightly.

"What did you two--" Christine started, about to step through the door. Her son backed up and put his hands in front of him.

"NO!" he cried with just a touch of hysteria, "You can't… it… has to be Father, Mama."

Suddenly another little boy came sliding down the hallway in his stocking feet, skidding right into the wall when he missed the turn in the hallway. He scrambled up rather ungracefully and joined his brother in the doorway.

"Boys! What happened to your shoes?"

"Sorry, Mama--"

"--you can scold us later."

"But, we _really _need to speak with Father now."

"It's… ah… kind of urgent."

Erik was not particularly interested in getting the boys out of trouble, but it was his workshop… and he was curious as all get-out.

The boys headed back down the hall with Erik close behind.

When they reached the workshop, the whirring had become more of an irritating buzzing, broken up by the short sounds accenting the little sparks shooting out of the… the…

"What is it?"

"Well…" one of them started.

"We're not really sure."

"You see, that clock over there was not running properly--"

"Well, that's not entirely true either--"

"Yeah, we just thought it could run _better_."

"Anyway, we took it apart,"

"Yes, that's right… but then we couldn't put it back together--"

"Because we… ah…"

"We lost a piece!"

"Yes, that's right. We lost a piece."

"So we had to take apart that lamp over there"

"Mm-hmm, yes, and that didn't have the piece we needed either"

"So we took apart the camera"

"You took apart my camera?" Erik interrupted, trying not to sound too sulky. He had just bought it last week. _He _wanted to take it apart.

The boys scarcely registered his interruption as they continued in their rapid-fire explanation. Meanwhile, their creation was spinning and sparking and knocking over everything in its path of destruction.

"Hurry it up, boys," Erik growled. He preferred to get that thing off his floor before it set his workshop on fire. But he was a little hesitant to touch it… the six or seven flailing arms looked rather dangerous.

"Oh… sorry, Father."

"So anyway, once everything was in pieces…"

"…we couldn't remember which parts went to which machine…"

"So, we…"

"We… um…"

"We built this instead," they finished in unison.

"I see." Erik said carefully. "And may I ask why I see your mother's kitchen knives tied to the arms?"

"We'd rather you didn't."

"Boys…" Erik, growled. He was surprised they were not better liars. Their mother was an actress and he was… well… he was surprised they were not better liars. He did not doubt for a second that, given a pile of parts, they could put together every last one of the gadgets they had disassembled.

So the question now was… why had they done this instead? It was clearly a weapon of some sort, with its moving arms tipped with knives and twisting, spiked stars.

Most ten year old boys turned tree branches into swords and rifles. Leave it to his boys to use household electronics to create a possibly lethal weapon that operated entirely on its own.

The twins shifted back and forth nervously. They looked at each other the silent question that there would be no avoiding.

"Well, you see, Father… we needed something that could fight… this."

While he was explaining, his brother crawled under the worktable to produce another object, which he placed carefully into Erik's hands. Another machine. It was different in design but the same in intent.

And equally dangerous.

Erik arched an invisible eyebrow and found himself very thankful that the mask he wore today effectively covered the fact that his smirk was slowly growing into more of a frightening grin.

The twins eyes grew wide as they saw a rope peeking out from Erik's sleeve. They knew what that rope meant. But… he wouldn't use it on _them _would they? When a second one peered out from his other sleeve, they both looked like they were about to run for it.

_"Why does he keep those in the house?" _one boy whispered.  
_  
"I don't know… but the fact that he does doesn't fare well for us at all, brother."_

With a couple flicks of his wrist, Erik deftly restrained the razor arms of the metal beast--increasing the sparks and buzzing tenfold, but halting its movements long enough for him to hit the off-switch, foolishly placed on the creature's head.

"_That _is why I keep these in the house, boys. Because my children are reckless hellions, determined to kill us all."

That was not entirely the reason why Erik was armed at all times. Part of it was habit, another part paranoia (you never know when some imprudent thug or overly curious visitor might break in), and part precaution. One can never predict when things like… this… might come up.

With another flick of his wrist, both ropes vanished.

Of all the things they had learned over their short lives… the Punjab lasso was the one the twins wished to know the most. However they knew better than to ask their father to teach them _that _particular skill. He would adamantly refuse and become curiously upset about the request. One time, he locked himself away and played angry music for days. Mama was not happy with them, either.

"Are you very angry with us, Father?" they asked. Parental punishments were always a toss up. Mama would get more emotional and angry… but Father was much more creative.

"Of course I am angry with you," he snapped.

His eyes were flashing… but Erik was feeling more intrigued and excited than angry. If anything, he was irritated that they had not taken more care in its construction. They had made foolish errors in design and caused a good bit of damage to his workspace. Not to mention, they could have killed themselves.

Oddly enough, Erik found himself much more disturbed by that prospect than he expected.

And honestly… hadn't he made enough stupid mistakes like this when he was their age?

He carried the broken machine to the table and instructed them to bring the other as well.

"I fully intend on punishing you, so don't think you're getting out of anything. However, since I am not so naïve as to believe you will stop inventing simply because I say so, and since I do not wish for such a calamity to happen again, I believe a lesson is in order.

He pulled up two stools beside his own so the boys could watch him as he repaired the broken machine, pointing out errors and improvements along the way. Then he carefully inspected the other machine to make sure it was… well, not _safe_… but at least make sure it was not going to explode any time soon.

When he finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

One of the boys asked, "But how shall we know if it works?"

Erik looked irritated that his work was being questioned. Of course it worked! He was the one who fixed it!

However... despite his indignation, inside he had been hoping for that very question. He took both machines and wrapped them separately in cloth bags so that they looked innocent enough. Then he motioned for the boys to follow him through one of the secret doors that would take them out of the lake house.

Before they left, Erik turned and, for the first time, said the words that he would be saying many more times over the upcoming years…

"Don't tell your mother."


	5. Reasons for Moving

**Alright, folks. You wanted names, and I have now given them to you. Enjoy. **

* * *

"Christine, I have lived in this cellar for years. I like it here. And _you _liked it here also until recently. Why do we need to move?"

"It is dangerous, Erik."

Erik snorted, which was an odd sound coming from one without a nose. "It is not dangerous. Erik has never allowed Christine to be injured while she was in his home."

"Maybe not for me, but what about the boys?"

"They are twelve now. Everything remotely dangerous has been discovered… and then broken, blown up, or ignited. What is in this house that you are so afraid of?"

"It's not what's in the house that I have a problem with. It's everything _outside _the house. You should know, Erik… you built it all! There are trap doors everywhere. Not to mention the… traps and the alarms. Even_ I_ wouldn't go out there without you escorting me."

"I like escorting you. It's nice."

She almost giggled a bit. "That's beside the point," she laughed, futilely trying to shove his hand off her knee.

--

"Shh!"

"You, _shh_!

"Shut up, Geoffrey, they'll hear us!"

"Oh, don't be stupid. They are playing chess. They wouldn't come out even if the house caught on fire."

"Don't remind me," Alexandre said, shaking his head at the punishment they'd gotten for _that _fiasco.

Mother and Father's chess games were very involved and required large amounts of concentration… at least that was what their father had said as he fitted the bedroom door with a lock so complicated that even _they _couldn't pick it. They could only imagine how intense the games much be, judging by the strange noises they heard when they pressed their ears to the door. It almost sounded like they were fighting.

But, whatever. The important thing was, they were occupied and nothing short of… well… a house fire… would draw them out.

When meant that this was the perfect time to attempt their escape.

Outside the lake house was a veritable wonderland for two adolescent boys. Over the last few months, they had a detailed map of the cellars, highlighting the various doors and lifts and putting little warnings to mark the alarm wires and booby traps.

The boys had spent the last week separated during their 'outside excursions', with Alexandre assigned to aligning a series of trapdoors to take them down all five cellars with no stops or stair-climbing required. It would hardly be a worthwhile adventure if they had to stop and walk between each drop. Sliding, gliding, and rolling were far more effective.

Geoffrey, having lost the coin toss, stayed mostly in the same place as he repaired the heavy lift that operated from the fifth cellar, all the way up to the main floor. It was ancient… and rickety… but with any luck, some basic engineering and a little elbow grease could make it serviceable once again.

But now, it was time for all their hard work to pay off.

_The Car-less Railway_, they called it, and it had been born from an article Geoffrey had seen in one of Father's journals. He'd only gotten a glimpse before Mama had confiscated it… but the idea of the 'roller coaster' had stayed in his brain. Purely from an architectural standpoint, he assured his parents.

Oh yes. This would be great fun.

--

"Erik, we really need to talk about this… those dungeons down there… well… they are not playgrounds."

"Oh, darling… are we still on this conversation? You've been on me about this for nearly a week… and, honestly, I just don't see the issue."

"Just come here a moment. I was looking in the paper and I found this lovely little house right outside--"

"Oh do put that away. Here I am, trying to have a romantic breakfast with my wife and she is busy with the newspaper. I honestly thought you had more sense than that, Christine. Here… let me take that and you try one of these muffins I made."

"Erik… these are… awful!"

"Well that's hardly my fault, is it? How am I supposed to remember the right sugar to blueberry ratio when my wife is prattling on about evicting me from my house?"

"I'll tell you what… you sit here and look at this paper and leave breakfast to me. Where are the boys this morning, by the way? Not that I'm not enjoying the privacy… but they are usually up by now."

"Hmm? Oh, right… ah… I believe they said they'd be in my workshop for most of the morning."

"Erik! Don't tell me you believe that!"

"Of course not. I can only assume they left the house and are now traipsing through our _ever so treacherous_ cellars, getting themselves killed. More importantly, they have left Christine unprotected and vulnerable to whatever devious plans her evil husband has in mind for her."

--

"That. Was. Awesome!" Alexandre panted, testing out the swollen elbow that he'd managed to land on.

Geoffrey merely grunted in acknowledgement. He was crumpled in a heap nearby, trying to catch his breath.

--

"They are going to get hurt, Erik."

"You always say that, darling. Those boys like getting hurt. That is not going to change if we move above ground. They are determined to injure themselves… and who are we to stand in the way of such determination?"

"We are their parents!"

"Yes, and brilliant parents, I might add. The very fact that they are alive enough to hurt themselves is a testament to the fact."

--

"You know, Geoffrey… with as much work as we put into this, I'd hate to just leave it for anyone to find."

"Good point, brother. It seems to me that we should take a page out of Father's book and put some protection on it."

"Brilliant idea!" Alexandre jumped up and started pacing. For the next hour and a half, the boys brainstormed ideas for the perfect contraption that would keep any intruder from meddling with their new favorite plaything.

It had to be effective, but not too dangerous. The twins were reasonably sure one, if not both, of their parents would disapprove of them designing a trap intended to kill a person. Why Father was allowed to was beyond them, but there are some hypocrisies that children are simply not permitted to point out.

Anyway, if it couldn't be permanently damaging, they could at least make it fitting for the crime. Perhaps a secondary roller coaster? One not so fun… with longer drops and…

"And ending up in the lake!"

"Absolutely perfect!"

--

"Absolutely not!"

"But Erik--" Christine started. She could tell by his flashing eyes that she really needed to drop the topic. The part of her that adored her husband, wanted to give in and make him happy. But… the motherly part of her insisted that this was one battle she _had _to win.

"Do not 'But Erik' me! There are no 'buts'. I have lived here for years! I refuse to let _children _dictate my life! There is no reason we should change our whole lives just because they are idiotic enough not to watch their steps."

"Don't you care about their safety?"

"Erik cares about _Christine's_ safety. What do a couple of boys matter to me? They can go hang themselves for all I care! In fact… perhaps that is not a bad idea. Then Erik will have Christine all to himself and we would not be having this conversation."

"You can't mean that!" Actually, she knew he couldn't believe that. At least not truly. But, Erik's temper still frightened her nonetheless.

"What will happen if Christine goes above ground? Without alarms and without protection. Erik will have to guard her all of the time. She will never be allowed to leave the house again!"

"I don't leave the house anyway!"

"Is that what you want so badly then? To leave Erik? Perhaps if we were above ground, you could leave whenever you like, is that it? You would not have to be around your disgusting monster of a husband?"

"Is that what this is about?" Christine asked softly. For a moment, she thought she saw a change in his eyes, but they hardened again and he grabbed her wrist, tugging her beside him as he led her to their room.

"Enough of this! Christine must not leave Erik. She belongs to him! She swore it to be true and she wears his ring!"

With that, he slammed the door and locked it.

Christine sighed and sat on the bed. She would not cry over this. Erik had been this way as long as she'd known him. He was like a wounded animal when he was frightened. He'd lash out and yell and lock her in her room. She even had a key tucked away for this very purpose. But, she never used it. Best let him cool down a bit.

How he would act after his little outbursts was always a little unpredictable. Sometimes he'd speak the apology out loud, and sometimes he wouldn't. He might come to her, crawling on his knees, burying his head in her skirts and weeping like a child. Or, he might bring her flowers or some little gift. He might slip into bed with her that night and whisper apologies until they both fell asleep. Or, he could always come back the next morning, cheerful as ever, and pretending there was nothing amiss.

She accepted it all in stride. Regardless of what he tried to do to make it up to her, the uncertainty in his eyes said it all. He just wanted her to love him.

She knew she'd pushed him too hard… but it was frustrating that he didn't seem to trust her after all these years. She knew some big part of him tried to… but every time they argued it would always come out that he was still afraid that she would stop loving him.

Christine realized that Erik would most likely be like that forever. It didn't matter, though… not really. She'd just assure him and reassure him whenever he needed it.

But… if only he wasn't so… _stubborn_.

She punched her pillow.

--

Erik wandered around the cellar, irritated and more than a little depressed.

He hated that she was always right.

He knew it was silly. Her points really were valid. He just… really… hated… change.

Well, now he did, anyway. There was a time when he craved it. When he was younger, he would start getting antsy if he stayed in one country for more than a couple of months. After spending his first seven years locked in his mother's basement, he believed there was just too much out there to see and do to waste time in any one place.

But now he'd seen and done it all. Well, maybe not _all_… but all the things that mattered. He'd already absorbed all the experiences he'd been dreaming about from the moment he got his hands on his first book. He was three and it was a Bible, believe it or not, accidentally left behind the priest who had been performing yet another exorcism on him.

The first few times, the procedure had been terrifying and embarrassing. But, after the six or seventh priest had stopped by, he found the experience rather tedious (though, mildly amusing at times). He wondered when his mother would accept the fact that he was not demon possessed. He was the demon. At least… that's what he told himself.

The day he informed her of this was the day she put him out of her house. He wished he'd thought of it sooner.

But, anyway, the book was interesting, which was entirely the point of the story. It mentioned all sorts of places and people and animals… he was fascinated by the idea of a world outside his basement.

From then on, he began bribing and coercing people to provide him with more books. With a voice like his, Erik could be _very _persuasive. He read more and more, fabricating images and ideas in his head.

Most children are exposed to all sorts of stimuli, whether it is intended or not. Erik was deprived of that… and wanted to understand even the simple things, like sand and flowers and whatever 'mirrors' were. He was forced to _imagine _sights and sounds and textures… which is rather difficult without a frame of reference.

When he was finally released from his childhood home, Erik set off to experience the world, from the very simple to the complex, as he saw it in his books.

But he grew up eventually, and found himself drawn back to the basement. It was safe there, and comforting. And it gave him the privacy he needed to take all his accumulated experiences and convert them to music.

And now he had a wife. Love was the last experience on his list… and now his life was complete. No text can fully describe a sensation as well as the sensation itself. To his surprise and elation, Love was no different.

And then she had to add _children _to the mix. Now everything was different.

Erik hated change.

But, it had been twelve years… perhaps it had been long enough that he should have acclimated?

Well, see… that's the thing. If he had just acquired a couple of dogs or cats, he could have been well accustomed to them by now. But, children! Children were changing every day. They were babies and then they could walk around, and then they could climb up on things… it was like he'd been under the assault of constant change for twelve whole years.

It was completely unfair!  
_  
But, what's one more big change to add to the list? Is a new house such a big adjustment?_

As he pondered the answer, Erik came across what looked to be an out-of-place section of flooring. Frowning, he looked around and found a partly-hidden handle on the wall beside his head.

Something was up.

This certainly was not one of his designs. Similar, yes… but cruder. He looked back and forth between the handle and the floor piece. He wondered if the handle was meant to be a shut-off control.. All booby-traps needed a shut-off if one was to traverse the area without getting shot in the head by one's own arrows.

On the other hand, the handle could be a trigger, and then he'd be in real trouble. Not one to take chances, Erik picked up a stone and threw it onto the discolored flooring.

What happened next was possibly the least expected thing one could account for.

When the rock hit the floor, a couple steps ahead of him, the flooring under his feet dropped out and sent him crashing through at least two more trap doors and into a near-vertical tunnel that deposited him unceremoniously into the lake.

At that point, Erik had a choice: he could either be very impressed or very angry.

He went for angry.

He swam to the shore, all the while cursing his children to the end of the world and back. On the soggy walk back to the house, he entertained himself by devising possible punishments.

As a rule, he usually refused to beat his children. However, this time was an exception. The torture chamber also seemed like acceptable retribution… although Christine might be angry with him. Briefly he wondered if there was a way to combine the two. That thought made him feel much better.

In the end, though, while he had no doubt he'd enjoy it in the short term, it would do little to teach them a long term lesson. They'd probably just make a manly pain-enduring game out of the spanking and it was very likely that they had already discovered the hidden release for the torture chamber.

No, the heart of the matter was that the boys had too much time on their hands. They needed some activities to wear them out. Physical labor sounded like a good plan… maybe, in the process, they'd build up some muscle and he could stop berating himself about passing on his skeleton-genes. Hopeful thinking, anyway.

--

Christine awoke when she heard Erik whispering her name and shaking her slightly. He still looked angry… but it was a different kind of angry. It was the 'absolutely positive, unadulterated irritation, without fear or apology' kind of angry… which meant it was not directed at her.

"What is it?" she asked groggily.

Erik huffed a little bit and shoved a newspaper in her hand. Her brow furrowed in confusion but she took the paper anyway. Erik tapped a bony finger to one of the ads.

"This is the house I want."

"What? Why… Erik, why are you all wet?"

"Christine, wake up. Pay attention. This house," he said, tapping harder on the paper, "this is the house we're buying. Can you go visit it tomorrow and make sure you like it?"

"Um… sure… I mean… yes, of course. But, why? What happened?"

"We're moving. That's what happened."

--

Alexandre wiped his brow, wincing at the sunburn he felt forming there, and handed the jug of water to his brother.

"Why are we doing this, again?" he asked.

"I don't remember. All I know is that we shouldn't do it again."

"Agreed. How many more leaves to we have to rake?"

"Um… about a trillion, from my estimation. And then we need to start Mama's garden."

"I hate sunshine."

"I miss our roller coaster."

* * *


	6. The Talk

Christine knew Erik had a certain independence when it came to learning, as he never had the benefit of teachers, growing up. Consequently, he was never particularly inclined to explain things. And, when he did, he had the habit of leaving out rather important details, as if he assumed everyone could just see into his mind and know what he was talking about. Christine believed that most of their arguments stemmed from such misunderstandings.

For example, one day, Erik came home with a pretty trinket for Christine.

"It's lovely," she said, "where did you find it?"

"Hmm?" he said absently, running his thumbs over her hand, "Oh, yes… I acquired it from someone."

"Who? What kind of someone?"

"It is inconsequential, really… it was someone who suddenly found themselves in a situation in which he was no longer in need of it. I was doing him a bit of a favor, actually." As an afterthought, he mused, " my, I do hope his wife is still alive."

"Erik!"

Christine panicked and started to cry and yell at him. It really was a rather disturbing tale for a supposed ex-criminal.

Erik, completely unaware of why she was so upset by his present, turned angry.

After several hours of tears, sulking, and angry music, Erik went to Christine, apologizing and begging forgiveness for whatever it was that he had done this time.

At some point during this tearful discussion, the truth came out:

Erik had been walking, earlier that evening, and saw a desperate and rather haggard looking man in the street. As people passed, he begged and pleaded, trying to sell this little trinket he held in his hand.

With nothing better to do, Erik paused and observed the man.

It was discovered that the poor man's wife was very ill. They hadn't any money for medicine… but he had this little knick-knack, saying it was the only thing of value they had in the house. He tried to sell it, almost frantically, to anyone who would listen. Though he lowered the price obscenely, no one was interested.

When Erik had approached him, the man acted as if it was a sign from God. Erik offered to buy the trinket and, ignoring his protests, gave the man ten times the object's true worth.

Now, Erik was never a generous man--quite the opposite, really--but he had been convinced that Christine would be very pleased with him for doing this. She seemed just as delighted when he did… good things… as when he brought her nice presents. Hence, it stands to reason that this gift would be doubly perfect!

So… one can imagine how upset Erik became at Christine's dismayed reaction to his thoughtfulness.

Poor man.

In the end, though, the combination of Christine's guilt for jumping to conclusions and her profound appreciation for his show of charity led to a very enjoyable evening, indeed.

That is not to say that no lessons were learned from this experience. From that moment onward, when Erik bought a gift for Christine, he would present it to her and, in a half-joking half-serious manner, say something to the effect of "I have brought you something which I have acquired legitimately."

It was a rather silly game they played, but it prevented a good many more upsets between the two of them.

The point was, that Erik's rather solitary existence never cultivated the best of communication skills. Which, in his mind, should exempt him from what Christine was about to ask.

"Erik, I think it's time for you to have a talk with the boys about--"

--

"Alexandre? What is that cabinet over there for?"

"Um… I think that is a bookshelf, actually."

"It looks like a cabinet."

"Don't be stupid, of course it looks like that. Father makes deceiving things all of the time."

"Then how do you know what it really is?"

Alexandre gave a long suffering sigh. "Because… you have to look _past _the cabinet." Then he added, mumbling slightly, "And… erm… I saw father take a book out of it last week."

"Oh. Well… why do you suppose he would hide something like that? That is what he is doing, right? Otherwise, why would he make a bookshelf into a locked cabinet?"

"Good point, brother. I wonder what is in there that father does not want anyone to see."

"Would it be wrong to climb up there and find out?"

"More importantly… would Papa lie to us if we ask him?"

"I say we look."

"Agreed. You keep watch, I'll climb up there and pick the lock."

Geoffrey grumbled something about always being the one who had to keep watch, but dutifully stood by the door anyway. Like the monkey Erik always proclaimed his sons to be, Alexandre climbed and swung straight up to the high ceiling, not once concerned that Erik had taken the ladder back with him last time.

"Woah…" he breathed, looking inside.

"What is it?"

"Books."

"Of course they're books. Didn't you say it was a bookshelf?"

"Yes… but these are the books father told us not to touch. Do you remember… the ones they kept in their room when we lived at the old house?"

Feeling slightly wicked at doing something forbidden, Alexandre tossed a couple of books down for Geoffrey to catch. Then he scaled down the wall and the two scurried to an empty corner so they could see what could be so special about a book that it had to be kept secret.

--

Erik stared blankly had his wife for a solid minute. Then he blinked twice, and stared some more.

"Erik…" she started slowly, hoping she hadn't just killed him, "Did you hear what I said?"

He nodded dumbly.

"And?"

As the realization of what she had asked began to sink in, Erik started breathing heavily. He was not an easily flustered person… but this was as close to a panic attack as he'd ever been.

"Can't… can't you do this? You're their mother. You explained to them where that dead bird they found went. Don't you remember?" he pleaded, "Little birdie heaven? Your cute little euphemism for the rubbish heap out back?"

"Erik, this is entirely different. I can't… this is not the sort of thing a mother can discuss with sons. It just… it just isn't done."

"And since when have we done things like everybody else?"

"It's not going to work, Erik. I'm not letting you out of this."

Erik cringed. He knew she was right… and, frankly, he did not want his wife discussing the facts of life with _anyone_… especially the boys. Ew.

But still… he did not want to do it.

"Humans were able to survive for centuries without having these things spelled out for them. And they are clever boys... they've taught themselves all sorts of other subjects. Why not this? Perhaps we should just let it lie and allow them to figure things out for themselves."

Christine looked at him incredulously. "Is that how _you _learned, then?"

Erik considered the question for a moment, not quite sure how to answer her in a way that would get him out of having That Conversation.

He had spent a few years in Persia as a young man, having already built up enough of a reputation to spark the Shah's interest. He was employed for a time, charged with designing a new palace… and entertaining the sick humor of the sultana.

As much as the Shah respected Erik's talent, he didn't trust him for a second (for good reason, too--any reasonable person should be leery of a man who could snap a neck from across the room with about as much remorse as a child smashing an insect). And so, he put him under the watchful eye of his chief of police, Nadir Khan.

If Christine thought Erik was headstrong now, she didn't know him at sixteen. At the time, Erik was more than a little resentful to be under the older man's constant surveillance. He didn't need a nanny, he'd said, and spent a good deal of time trying to lose the detective in the many rooms of the palace.

One day, Erik was exploring a new shortcut when he stumbled upon the court physician with _two _of the harem girls, engaged in a procedure that he was fairly certain was not medically necessary.

A more scrupulous man might turn the doctor in to the Shah to answer for his crimes. Erik, naturally, had other plans. The punishment for touching a member of the harem would most likely be death for both--well, all three--participants… which meant Erik now had a rather convincing bit of blackmail if he kept quiet.

The sight did spark some of Erik's curiosity, however. He'd studied female anatomy to a certain extent from a book once, wanting to know why the sexes appeared so different, but the concept of sex had been too abstract for him to spend much time studying.

But suddenly it didn't seem so abstract anymore.

Erik had questions. A lot of questions. And his search of the palace library had been rather disappointing. So, he decided to seek out his appointed guardian for a rather frank conversation.

"Erik… I don't know… isn't there someone else you could have this conversation with?"

"Nonsense, daroga. You're married… you're as good to ask as any. Besides, you lurk around me constantly--don't think I haven't noticed--so you might as well make yourself useful."

"It just doesn't seem--"

"Splendid!" Erik said, pulling a list out of his pocket.

The next two hours were filled with a nearly clinical Erik asking some very candid questions from a bumbling and flustered Nadir.

That, Erik supposed, was the start of their rather unconventional relationship. To Nadir, Erik was like the little brother he never had. To Erik, Nadir was like the annoying uncle that wouldn't leave. It was an odd sort of friendship, but it worked for them.

Meanwhile, Erik's reflective silence had given Christine the impression that he was beginning to see things her way. She jumped up and ran to her closet, pulling out a small stack of books.

"I picked these up the other day," she said, handing him the pile, "and I thought they might help give you some ideas."

Erik took the books and glanced them over. They were instruction booklets and manuals explaining proper behavior of young people and newly married couples and the roles of men and women in marriage.

"You bought these?" he asked, both skeptical and amused. Somehow he could not imagine Christine walking into a bookstore and asking the woman at the front desk (the attendant would _have _to be a woman, he decided, because his sanity couldn't handle the alternative) where they kept the information on 'marriage practices'.

Christine blushed and shifted her feet. Erik could have laughed at the way she refused to look up from the floor, but he had a feeling that making fun of her would sabotage his goal of evading the parental duty she seemed dead set on forcing upon him.

"I… ah… well… they didn't know it was me."

"Oh? And why would that be?"

"Um… I wore a wig."

This time Erik did laugh. He couldn't help himself… it was just too precious. When she glared, he opened up one of the books, hiding his mirth behind its pages.

However, after a minute or two of reading, he tossed the book on the bed in irritation. He picked up another and flipped through some of the pages.

"Christine!" he exclaimed, "Have you even read this rubbish? I am _not _telling them this!"

"Why not?"

"It's ridiculous. It's restrictive and prudish and… impractical."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course I do." he reached over and grabbed onto her skirts. He gave her a sharp tug, causing her to fall into his lap with a squeal. "You see?" he said, "Do you realize how profoundly inappropriate you are being, young lady?"

He smiled at Christine's indignant gasp. She really was adorable.

He flipped her onto the bed and hovered over her. "Now," he said casually, "It's March… and I believe we have already surpassed the allotted number of encounters for the year. Which means, if your book is correct, that you should be near death and I should not have an speck of masculinity left in me."

Erik kissed her hard on the lips. "Now, tell me, Christine. Do I strike you as… oh, blast, what was it, again?" he moved away long enough to pick the book back up. Holding it up for them both to see, he said, "Oh, right. A 'namby pamby sissy boy'?"

Christine was caught between laughter and embarrassment. He was mocking her, clearly… but he had a point.

"I suppose not," she admitted.

"Good. Because, if I was… it would be entirely your fault, my dear, for… how can I, a mere man, be able to resist myself when you drive me to such distraction?"

Erik rolled over onto his back and pulled her up by the waist until she was straddling him. "And… look!" he cried, as if shocked, "Now we are going to Hell! Just like that--would you believe it?"

Christine giggled and swatted his chest before climbing off of him. "Stop teasing me, you fiend!" she chided. "We still haven't come up with something to tell the boys. You were so quick to dismiss my idea and, yet, don't seem to have anything useful of your own."

"As a matter of fact, I do have an idea. A brilliant one, I might add."

"And?"

"And it is none of Christine's business. This is hardly the kind of thing a lady should concern herself with." Christine frowned. This was entirely his fault, after all. She simply made the suggestion… he's the one who insisted on talking through the details.

As if sensing her irritation, Erik simply laughed. He tweaked her nose and kissed her forehead. "Worry not, my love. Do not think on this again. Erik will take care of everything."

_Sort of, _he thought, already trying to formulate a plan.

--

The boys flipped through the book with wide eyes. It was like a science book but… with pictures. It was as mesmerizing as it was disgusting. They knew that boys and girls were different… but the did not realize they were _that _different. They couldn't tear their eyes away.

"What does the chapter say?"

"You weren't reading it?"

"No, were you?"

"Better go back…"

"Do we have to? I mean… we've already seen those… ah… diagrams. Maybe we should just move on."

"Right, then. Chapter 2: The Secrets of Womanhood."

The boys began to read.

"…every month, a portion of the inner lining of the uterus is shed and as it passes away a few of the capillaries break, and so the woman will notice a--"

"EW!" The both shouted at once, slamming the book shut and sending it flying across the room as if it was poisonous to touch.

"No wonder father hides those! Were they all like that?"

"I don't know… I just grabbed them without looking. Should we try the other one?"

Geoffrey looked skeptical. "I'm not sure. If it's anything like the last one…"

"Lets just open it up somewhere in the middle."

They shut their eyes and Alexandre picked a place in the middle with his thumbs and pulled the book open. This particular book also had pictures. Very unscientific pictures.

"What the devil are they _doing_?"

--

Meanwhile, Christine had been folding some laundry when she heard the thud and shout the boys had given out when they so vehemently discarded the book that had first offended them. Loud war-cries and banging on the floor were not uncommon in their household. However, just to make sure everything was fine, she went upstairs to check on the boys.

She opened the door to find the boys pointing and giggling over… _Oh, please no_… one of the books Erik had acquired during his travels. And not just any books… the ones she made him hide away when the twins were born.

For a moment she was torn. Should she go in and yell at them? Take the book away? Send their father up? Erik did say he'd handle it, after all.

In the end, she simply backed out of the room unnoticed, her face bright red with embarrassment.

--

A few days later, Erik found himself rushing through the boy's lessons. He told them it was because they had guests coming for dinner but, in reality, he was finding himself almost sick with apprehension. He had acted so calmly when he ended his conversation with Christine the other day, but later he realized that he truly had no idea how he was going to get through this by himself.

He had been half-expecting Christine to pester him about their discussion until he indicated that he had spoken to the boys… so he was very grateful that she hadn't mentioned it again.

Actually, she seemed unable to discuss much at all with him. Every time he entered a room, she'd blush and find some reason to scurry away. She used the excuse that she had to get the house ready since Nadir was coming to dinner. Erik was slightly miffed about this… but since having the daroga over had been his idea in the first place, he felt obligated to allow her odd behavior.

When lessons were over, Erik sent the boys to their room to prepare for supper. Meanwhile, he paced outside their door, trying to think of a good reason to put The Talk off for another day.

He could find none. However, he did think of something else.

A few minutes later, Erik was back at their door, armed with his books from the locked bookshelf. Eastern cultures, he'd found, seemed a bit less inhibited than most of Europe at the time. Thus, some of the books he'd collected from these places were bound to be more informative and descriptive than anything else. It was the perfect alternative, he thought, to a fatherly discussion.

He knocked loudly before entering the room.

"Sit down, boys," he said. "I believe it is time for you to… learn about… well, that is to say… I think we should talk about… ah…" Erik glared at his sons. He hated being so inarticulate. This was their fault for making him stutter. He never asked to be a father.

"Here." he said, finally, dropping the books on their desk.

He glared once again and started to walk away. However, before he reached the door, Alexandre stopped him.

"Actually, father," he started sheepishly, "we've already read those books."

Both boys cringed, waiting for their father's wrath for doing something they shouldn't. Erik, however, was completely relieved. None of this was necessary, after all.

As it turned out, though, his relief was short lived.

Once they were reasonably sure they were not about to be punished, Geoffrey boldly pressed on. "Yes, we read them, father… but… we're not exactly clear on… some things…"

"That's right," continued Alexandre, "we didn't want to say anything because… you know… we didn't want you to find out. But, since you know now…"

"We have some questions," Geoffrey finished. He pulled a list out of the desk drawer and handed it to Erik. It was very detailed and categorized in order of subject and importance.

Erik paled.

Suddenly there was another knock at the door and a very jovial looking Nadir stepped into the room.

"Good evening, Erik, boys. Christine told me I'd find you up here."

"Hello, M. Khan," the twins said, standing up to shake the man's hand.

"Daroga," Erik said much too cheerfully. "I'm glad you came up. Actually, I was just on my way to see Christine about something." He shook his friend's hand and took the opportunity to hand him the folded list. "Why don't you give the boys a bit of help with these things and I'll call you when supper is ready, does that sound acceptable?"

"Perfectly," Nadir answered, a little put off by Erik's sudden politeness but not wanting to spoil the good mood.

Erik nodded his thanks and left, hurrying downstairs before his friend had a chance to open the list.

He was a coward. But… under the circumstances, it didn't bother him so much.

--

An hour later, a deathly pale Nadir drifted down the stairs.

Christine began to fuss over him, asking if he was ill. She began lead him out of the room, insisting that he find a couch to sit on while she fetched him water.

Erik just stared, unable to read his friend's reaction and, therefore, not quite sure how to respond.

"You owe me." Nadir said simply, allowing Christine to pull him down the hallway.

--

**Any quotes I made in this chapter (even 'namby pamby sissy boy') came from _Sex Training in the Home_ by Winfield Scott Hall. It was written in 1911 and provided parents with scripted answers for life's more embarrassing questions.**


	7. Family Stroll and Mistaken Identity

"She's beautiful, mother… and her name is Jeanette, and she…"

Erik listened to his son prattle on and on about the girl who had, apparently, captured his heart. There were times he worried about the boy. Alexandre--the oldest, for those who care about such things--was more like his father than Erik cared to admit. The way he spoke of this girl… the drawings he'd made. Even the manner in which he pursued her seemed disturbingly familiar.

Granted, he never threw his voice from behind a secret mirror… and he certainly never kidnapped anyone. But, if what Erik was hearing was correct, he wouldn't put it past the boy.

Having recognized the signs, Erik followed the young man once or twice. He'd been watching her, spying on her in the market, subtly frightening off potential suitors, and orchestrating situations that would put them alone together.

All in all, it was the same tendencies that had been so frightening to Christine all those years ago when he was trying to pursue her.

However, unlike Christine, this Jeanette did not seem repulsed by such treatment. Instead of finding Alexandre's obsession unsettling, she found his _perseverance _flattering. The fact both Erik and his son had experienced different reactions to identical… courting techniques… either said something about the young woman or it meant his face really was what scared off Christine at first.

Christine had spent so long trying to convince him that his face didn't matter; it made him feel bad to undermine all her years of effort by calling her a liar. So, he decided to believe that this Jeanette had a twisted idea of romance.

Ah well… that was all the better for Al. At least they were well-matched in that sense.

Nevertheless, Erik kept his eye on them. At the first sign that the young woman was uncomfortable, he was going to have a talk with his son.

"…and she has the sweetest laugh and--"

"Well, she just sounds delightful, son," Christine said, cutting him off. "Why don't we invite her over for tea or--"

"NO!" Erik cried. Everyone at the table froze, staring at the masked man, who had been completely silent up until his little outburst.

"No," he repeated, a little more calmly. "I do not wish to have some stranger in my home. I… do not wish to be gawked at or… Just think of something else, Christine, if you would like to get to know the girl."

Christine just smiled. She was used to taking these sort of things in stride.

"Well… why don't we just invite her on our walk next Sunday evening? Would that suit you better, Erik? You usually keep out of sight anyway, so you'd be able to see her without being too exposed."

"She's right, father," the slightly younger Geoffrey offered, "In fact, I think even we wouldn't know you're there if we didn't… ah… know you were there."

"Well said, brother. Very eloquent."

"Hey, shut up!"

"No you--"

"Boys!" Erik and Christine shouted simultaneously. The twins were sixteen… and so caught up in being adult and sophisticated that they were often oblivious to how childish they were being.

"Perhaps," Erik said, still glaring at his children, "we will try it. This Sunday, I think."

--

The afternoon was sickeningly cheerful, in Erik's opinion. It was an abomination for it to be so warm and sunny this time of year. But, if there was a shadow to be found, he would and did find it… so, all in all, the walk was not too bad.

Christine stayed by his side as much as she could. Even if he was not holding her hand, having her within touching distance did much to calm Erik's nerves.

Jeanette was standing too close to Erik for his comfort, but she and Christine were engrossed in conversation, and he could not do anything without embarrassing his son.

While he would bite off his own tongue rather than admit it, Erik had changed a great deal over the years. At some point, when the twins were ten or eleven, he finally realized and accepted the fact that they were not going anywhere. He was a little repulsed by this at first, until it occurred to him that, if the boys were there to stay, so was Christine, since she would never leave her babies.

And so, to Erik's initial reluctance and eventual relief, he began to see them all as a family unit--Alexandre and Geoffrey were just as much his as Christine.

Anyway, for his son's sake, he would be… _nice_.

Interestingly enough, though, Alexandre seemed equally put off about their standing arrangement as Erik. The boy had been showing himself to be just as possessive about Jeanette as Erik was with Christine. He did his best to flank her other side protectively, without being accused of crowding her.

Geoffrey, for his part, was trailing behind, grumbling and scowling. He had been hiding up in his room, working on a piece, and was exceedingly unhappy for the interruption. Geoffrey would have been absolutely content if he had been left along to compose for a few more hours, but Christine refused to let him retreat into himself. The fact that he had been so close to finishing the piece only added to his frustration--but Christine had long ago become immune to "five more minutes, mother!"

And so, the ladies walked and chatted happily, either oblivious or unconcerned there was not one happy male among them.

After a time, they came upon a dozen or so makeshift businesses. A festival of some sort seemed to have expanded out of the town and into the park, so a few stands had been set up, selling candy and trinkets and whatnot.

Erik tensed; this was not what he had planned for today. Christine on the other hand, looked absolutely thrilled. She had experienced events like these as a little girl with her father. Even now, the idea gave her a childish sort of thrill. And, by the look on Jeanette's fact, she felt the same way.

Christine shot a pleading look to where she suspected Erik to be. After a long pause, she saw his yellow eyes drop as he nodded his consent.

Jeanette didn't bother to ask Alexandre before she skipped off after Christine. They weren't married.

Alexandre looked exceedingly irritated by the situation, but Erik shook his head, warning his son not to say anything.

Geoffrey was indifferent, but he had no specific desire to aw and giggle over cute bracelets with the ladies--so he stayed behind with his father and brother.

However, out of habit and suspicion, all three men kept rapt attention on their women.

As it was, their paranoia paid off. While the women were exploring, some young men approached them. They were sailors, slightly drunk, and looking for a good time.

"Well, look who we have here!" one of them drawled.

"My, my… aren't you pretty?" said another, stroking Jeanette's cheek. She backed up until she came in contact with one of the walls.

"You really don't want to do this…" Christine warned. She looked around frantically, surprised to find the area rather vacant. Where had all the people gone?

"Mm… you know, I'm surprised to find such pretty ladies out here alone. I woulda thought you'd be celebrating in the town like everyone else."

"If you're good, we might let you catch the end of it," the tallest man said closing in on the women.

The moment the man reached out to grab Christine's waist, he found himself on the ground, screaming in pain. His wrist was set at an odd angle and had a piece of bone poking through the skin. There was a rope around his arm.

His three friends wasted no time in running away. Whoever these women were, they were not worth that.

Erik had just released his lasso from the first man when he saw his two sons sprinting after the other three. He was just a little surprised they had reacted so… instinctively. It had always been him taking care of his wife and children. Now, they seemed to be doing the same… and acting as natural as if they had been like this all along. He wanted to join them in the hunt--his heart still demanded vengeance--but he could not leave the ladies out here alone.

Jeanette's eyes widened and she looked a little panicked as she saw a masked man walking her way, but breathed a sigh of relief Christine immediately walked into his arms. She hoped her initial fear didn't offend the man. It's just that… this was a rather odd way to meet her suitor's mysterious father. Luckily, Erik was nearly oblivious to the younger girl as he rubbed his wife's back and whispered in her ear. It was a little awkward, truth be told, but Jeanette decided that awkwardness trumped rape any day.

Sometime later, the boys returned. Each of them held a bruised and bloody sailor by the back of the collar, forcing them to stumble ahead of them. When they reached the place where the women were standing, they kicked their captive's knees and forced them to the ground. Then, grabbing them by the hair, they roughly yanked their heads back, forcing them to look at the women they had harassed.

"I believe these gentlemen had something they wish to say to you," Geoffrey said. "Isn't that right?" he asked the sailor, turning his head to face him.

"Yes…" he gasped, earning a sharp kick in the ribs. "Yes _sir_… yes _sir_."

"See, was that so difficult? Now… I believe you were saying you wanted a chance to apologize."

Geoffrey and Alexandre both held the kneeling men by the hair as they rambled on and on their apologies to the women.

"Enough," Erik said softly, when he felt Christine squeeze his hand once.

The boys nodded and kicked the men completely to the ground before standing back and allowing them to scramble away.

Jeanette ran over and threw her arms around Geoffrey, who waggled his eyebrows at Alexandre before his brother pulled her away and in to his own embrace. Alexandre snarled at him over Jeanette's shoulder. Geoffrey merely shrugged and smirked.

She'd tell them apart eventually.


	8. Nice

Christine would never admit it, but there were occasionally times when she thought Erik might actually be dead. To be fair, it wasn't really her fault. And she was probably better than anyone else at judging the status of her corpse-husband's health.

She thought of the first time she'd seen him thus, and how terrified she had been.

Despite the imposing figure he cut, Erik got sick every now and again just like everybody else. The thought had never occurred to her until she found him, lying perfectly still in his coffin, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"_Erik?" she asked, a bit unnerved by his position. _

"_Yes darling?" he asked, after a moment of silence. Christine jumped, at first… and then she felt a rush of relief pass over her. He was alive. _

"_What… ah… what are you doing in there?" she asked carefully. _

"_Making it easy for God," he answered simply._

"_What? Make what easy? What are you talking about?"_

_He still hadn't moved or opened his eyes. He said casually, "I do not wish to alarm you, Christine, but I am going to die."_

"_ERIK!" Christine shrieked, absolutely horrified. "How can you say that?" She knelt beside him and started feeling and shaking his body. _

"_I am very ill, darling. And, I've decided that, if God is so intent on killing me… I might as well make it easy. You should be thankful, really. Moving and positioning a body after death is nasty business."_

_Christine touched his bare forehead. It did feel a bit warm--well, warm for him, anyway--and he was shivering. _

_Without warning, Erik sat straight up and his tall frame curled in on itself as a pitiful coughing fit racked his body. After a minute or so, he collapsed back into his coffin with a moan. _

Christine smiled at the memory. Erik had a chest cold… or maybe a mild flu. She remembered how she slowly coaxed him out of the coffin and into bed, and how she patiently nursed him back to health despite the fact that he was the most difficult sick person she'd ever met. Depending on how he felt at any particular moment, he'd alternate between melodramatic visions of death and grumpy insistence that he could take care of himself, thank you very much.

Christine was infinitely grateful that he had never been seriously ill. She didn't think she could handle it for more than a few days.

But Erik was not sick this time, so it concerned Christine a bit to see him lying on the bed, unmoving, and staring at the ceiling. It really was unnatural for a man to lie so still.

Since 'are you alive?' is a rather unsubtle way to start a conversation--not to mention potentially offend a person with Erik's… peculiarities--she crawled into bed beside him and put her head on his chest. Hence, an innocent, wifely cuddle doubles as a check for breathing and heartbeat.

Erik sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head.

"You would never leave your Erik, would you?" He asked.

Christine noticed that his voice lacked the desperation it normally possessed when he was feeling insecure enough to ask that particular question. He sounded exhausted, almost… or detached. It certainly matched his stunned appearance.

"Of course not," she assured him.

The couple lay in silence for a few moments, Erik stroking his wife's hair while gazing, with unblinking eyes, at the ceiling.

"It isn't fair, you know," he said, eventually.

"What isn't fair?"

"That both Christine's boys should leave in the same week."

"Ah."

Well, that explained some of it, Christine realized. It had only been a few days since Alexandre and Jeanette's wedding and Geoffrey was preparing to move out on his own.

A while back, Geoffrey switched from playing violin to viola and, while it made him the target of every family joke since he was fourteen, it also meant he never wanted for work. A few weeks ago he had accepted a position in a rather prominent symphony orchestra in Paris. Erik was very proud, of course, and entirely supportive… at least until his son announced that he planned to move into the city so that he would be closer for rehearsals.

He had a point; the boy had been running himself ragged over the last two weeks, trying to commute back and forth each weekend and keep up with all his various lessons and projects. He also wanted time and privacy to compose, a need that Erik understood all too well.

No, it all made perfect sense, even to Erik… but that didn't make him any happier about it.

"Go talk to Geoffrey," Erik said suddenly, "He likes you."

Christine laughed. "He likes you to, Erik. But that doesn't mean you're going to convince him to stay here. He's grown now… he wants to be out on his own. It's only natural. Surely you didn't think the boys would be here forever…"

Erik grunted in response and put his other arm around her.

She would have sat up, had Erik not been holding her so tightly. Instead she patted his chest. "I'm a little surprised, actually," she said, "I thought you couldn't wait to 'get the little monkeys out of your hair'. Am I wrong?"

"No… not wrong, I suppose. It's just that… over the last eighteen years, the little monkeys have grown on me… you know?"

"You've gotten used to having them around."

"Yes… and… well, it's more than that." Erik frowned, trying to work out a coherent explanation. "It's like… it took me five whole years just to stop hating them, did you know that, Christine?"

Christine nodded. She hadn't known, actually, but she wasn't surprised.

"Five years, Christine! To stop _hating _my own children! Five years to stop hating them, another five to _like _them, five more to _love _them… and now… now I don't want to let them go. It just doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense, love," Christine soothed. "And, it's not as if they have completely abandoned you. Geoffrey isn't going far--we'll be able to see him all the time. And Alexandre and Jeanette promised to write often. If you like, we could go visit them when they come back from their trip."

"But that won't be for weeks!"

"Don't be dramatic, Erik. You can't blame them for wanting a bit of privacy."

Erik understood--he had treasured his time alone with Christine before… _they_… came along. His one consolation was that now he might regain some of the privacy he had been grieving the loss of all these years.

And it wasn't like he didn't see this coming. Alexandre and Jeanette had endured an appropriately long courtship, at her father's insistence, and obeyed every rule of polite society. Only just barely. Alexandre had been counting the days and the instant--almost to the minute--it was acceptable, the wedding ceremony began.

Erik's oldest son was very much like his father. In his mind, Jeanette was his from the moment he laid eyes on her. The fact that he had to take 'unnecessary steps regulated by stuffy human beings' to make it official, irked him to no end.

But, it was very important to Jeanette's parents and Christine urged her son to humor his future in-laws, assuring him that it would be worth it in the long run.

The wedding itself had been small but beautiful. Erik was not afraid of the church or the ceremony, but the social situations that came with holding a large wedding made him briefly consider not attending. Alexandre seemed to expect this without his father even mentioning it and made a compromise--well, rather an ultimatum--with his wife's parents to keep the wedding to immediate family in exchange for his promise to not simply elope with their daughter and having done with the whole mess.

Afterward, though, her family held larger celebration at their home. Erik smirked when he thought of how on-edge the boy had been. If he didn't know any better, he'd suspect that his son was almost as uncomfortable as he was. At least _he _got to sneak away for the majority of the evening. Erik did _not _mingle. Not to mention, the uncomfortable life-like mask might look convincing in the dim light of the candle lit church or the dusky evening sky… but, up close, in a bright parlor, it wouldn't be so discreet.

But his son had no such excuse, and spent most of the evening attached to Jeanette's side, all but growling at every male who passed her way. Erik wondered how long she would be able to put up with her new husband's possessiveness. He hoped she would be as understanding as Christine was.

Geoffrey, on the other hand, seemed to have a grand time. He spent most of his time allowing Jeanette's mother to shuffle him around from group to group, introducing him to all the eligible young ladies in the room. He flirted shamelessly. The boy was in his element.

Sometimes Erik wondered where that boy came from. Surely he could not belong to _them_. Perhaps he was some other family's child and it was merely coincidence that he looked identical to his brother. Or, maybe he was the image of what Erik might have been, had he been born with a normal appearance. Maybe a stork really _did _drop him off.

Erik smiled. His sons were really something. And now he had a daughter-in-law! Whoever would have thought he, one day, would be complaining to his _wife _about how much he would miss his _children_?

It was all so delightfully average.

"Erik? Have you been listening to me?"

"Hmm?" Erik answered. He'd been vaguely aware of Christine's voice, but too busy in his daydreaming to understand what she was saying.

"_I asked you_ what it was you wanted to talk to Jeanette about?"

He started laughing. The evening before the newlyweds left on their honeymoon, they all took one last family stroll together. As they meandered around the park, enjoying the pond and the cool evening air, Erik offered his daughter-in-law his arm and suggested they walk together for a few minutes.

"_Why?" Alexandre asked harshly. _

"_Don't 'why' me, boy. I am an old man who wants to have a word with the new bride. Humor me."_

_Alexandre reluctantly handed her over. Erik just rolled his eyes. If _he _could learn to share his wife with a couple of disgustingly perfect little angels hell-bent on rearranging his entire existence, Alexandre could let him enjoy a two minute walk with his daughter-in-law. _

_Erik and Jeanette moved to the front of the group, while Christine stayed behind and chatted happily with the twins. _

"_He did not seem very happy," Jeanette noted. Erik chuckled. That was an understatement--he could feel Alexandre's glare practically burning through his back. _

"_I hope you realize that is not likely to let up," he answered, somewhat pleased when she did not look offended by the suggestion but gave a rather mischievous sort of look instead. They would be good for each other, he decided._

_For a few minutes, they walked together in companionable silence, until Erik decided he'd teased Alexandre enough and relinquished his bride before the boy exploded and the resulting shrapnel injured Christine._

Christine looked curiously at Erik. He seemed genuinely amused by her question.

"Absolutely nothing," he answered.

"You made such a big deal about borrowing her away and you really had _nothing to say to her?" _

"Not a thing. I was just trying to get a rise out of my son."

"That was a horrid thing to do, Erik! I can't believe you put him through that for no point whatsoever."

"But isn't that the beauty of it, Christine? I never thought I'd have that. I never thought I'd be taking a Sunday evening stroll in the park with my real-living wife and my real-living children. I never once imagined myself talking to people about nothing and enjoying it… and teasing my boy for absolutely no reason whatsoever. It feels… nice."

Christine smiled at his simplistic description.

It was true.

Life was very nice, indeed.


	9. Full Circle

Through blackmail or an unreasonable amount of charm (both equally possible, considering his parentage), Geoffrey was offered the position of conductor rather quickly. If Erik had eyebrows, he certainly would have arched one at this. When the standing conductor retired from the orchestra, it stood to reason that a violinist would take up the role until a suitable replacement was found.

Instead, though, Geoffrey had been invited to step in; an arrangement that, after only one concert, the more wealthy patrons insisted be made formal and permanent.

Erik, of course, was beaming with pride when he received the letter, and informed Christine that they would pay their son a visit. Christine, who had become the only temperance to Erik's impulsiveness, was able to convince her husband not to call for a carriage at that very moment, but instead to wait until a respectable hour, the next morning. He grumbled and complained about the injustice of it all, but was disinclined to say 'no' to the woman he adored.

She did not, however, stop him from sending a hastily written letter to Nadir, instructing him join them for the concert. Christine wondered how a friendly invitation sounded like a reprimand.

Erik and Nadir had the strangest of relationships. Once, Christine had asked him about it. The daroga just laughed and explained that Erik had an allergy to kindness and they had always treated each other accordingly.

Very strange, indeed. Fitting… but strange.

* * *

"Mama!" Geoffrey exclaimed, giving his mother a hug. "Father, Mr. Khan," he nodded, shaking each man's hand in turn.

"Good afternoon, son," Erik said affectionately. It was good to see his boy again.

The four exchanged small talk for a few minutes, before Geoffrey picked up on his father's increasingly less-subtle hints and offered them a tour of the concert hall.

It was a bit different from the opera house, but that was to be expected. The stage was large, but not set up to accommodate large sets and heavy props. Overall, Erik was suitably impressed by the auditorium. Granted, he had seen it all before, but somehow it seemed bigger and grander now that his son was in charge.

* * *

Knowing it would only be hours from sending his letter until his parents arrived, Geoffrey took the liberty of reserving a box for the night's performance.

"Box five," Christine whispered, earning a smirk from Erik. They did not know whether or not their son knew the significance of that same space in another auditorium.

"I'm sure I have _no _idea what you are talking about, my dear," Erik whispered back, amused. "Now, if you'd stop your silly comments, I would like to listen to the performance now."

"But it hasn't even started yet."

"Shh. _Some of us _are trying to enjoy the concert."

Christine rolled her eyes. Not fifteen seconds later, she felt her husband's hand surreptitiously slid over and rest on her knee.

"I thought you said you were trying to enjoy the concert!"

"Shh."

"Ahem," Nadir coughed. He earned a dangerous glare from Erik… but _honestly_! He was right there next to them!

Erik flipped through the program, able to read it clearly, regardless of the fact that he was completely enveloped in shadows.

"This is a very odd, program," he explained. "Usually they perform the lesser known works in the beginning and play the grander pieces last. That way people do not leave during the intermission. But… here, look, Christine… this program starts with well known music… and features this piece by an unknown composer at the end."

"Ah, perhaps I can explain that, my friend," Nadir said. "You see, I daresay this is what has garnered your son's instant popularity. The composer of which you are referring is not _unknown _but rather _anonymous_. He is known only as 'The Ghost's Apprentice' and has produced some of the most daring music the city has seen in a long time. _And_… it would appear that your son--and your son, alone--has access to his compositions."

Erik barked out a laugh. "The Ghost's Apprentice, you say?"

Nadir shrugged, equally amused. "Yes, it would seem that you are not the only one out there with a flare for the mysterious. The point is, though, that the music is wildly popular. The first concert, nearly half the audience left after the great, established works at the beginning of the program--I thought poor Geoffrey would be sacked for sure. But, those who stayed raved so much about the remaining half so much that the theater has been sold out for every concert since." He began to dig through his jacket pockets and pulled out a small strip of newspaper. "Here you go… the critics have called this 'Not a concert, but an experience'. You should be very proud."

"That I am," Erik agreed. He sharply turned to Christine, eyes narrowed. "Why have I just now heard of this?"

Christine shrugged. "I'll do better next time," she said sweetly.

Erik grunted irritably. That was wife-speak for 'It's your fault, you idiot, but I'm not going to embarrass you in front of your friend'.

She was probably right in that. He'd been rather inspired creatively these last few weeks and had grown out of touch the world outside his house. Christine had dragged him upstairs for meals every few days, but he'd only been half-listening to their conversations.

Nevertheless, he had to be annoyed with _someone_… so he just silently glared at a rather confused Nadir until the orchestra had finished tuning and the concert began.

* * *

The first half was impressive enough; it was clear Geoffrey had done some wonderful things with the musicians in front of him. However, it was the second half that had nearly the whole audience on the edge of their seats. Christine had to physically push Erik into his chair a couple of times to prevent him from standing and pacing while he listened.

If the composer's pseudonym hadn't tipped them off, Erik still would have recognized his son's music anywhere. Every now and then, he would lean over to Christine and say something like, "Did you hear that? That run… right there… in the bassoons… the one that the cellos keep echoing? That's mine. I taught him that."

Christine grinned. She had not seen Erik so excited in a long time. And she did not think she had ever shown so much pride in his son… though she knew it was there under the surface. He was usually such a grump when the twins were around. Well… not the twins _specifically_… just any living being that wasn't his wife.

After the concert, Geoffrey invited them all to his flat to catch up. Christine, of course, was excited to see her son's new apartment, and Erik was just happy to get away from the crowds. Nadir followed along happily, keeping the conversations rolling along and occasionally wringing a death threat or two out of Erik. Just for fun.

"So, son," Erik said, softly… "The Ghost's Apprentice, eh? I take it you and he are close?"

The silent question hanging there was obvious. _Why don't you claim your own work?_

Geoffrey flushed bright red and gave an embarrassed glance toward his mother. He shoved his hands in his pockets and Erik was instantly reminded of the mischievous little boy, caught mid-scheme.

He cleared his throat. "The… ah…" he mumbled, "the girls like the mystery."

Erik smirked and Nadir laughed out loud. Christine clapped her hands excitedly and asked which lovely young lady he had his eye on.

_All of them,_ Geoffrey wanted to say. He was young, handsome, charming… there was no lack of 'lovely young ladies' coming his way. Add 'mysterious genius' to the mix and he was in a pretty good place.

But he couldn't tell his mother that.

Geoffrey shot a pleading look at the other men. Erik would have been completely content to let the boy flounder in his awkwardness, but Nadir humanely stepped in to rescue him.

"Perhaps you could give us a tour of your home?" he offered. Grateful, the young man opened the door and ushered them all inside.

* * *

Erik sat, staring blankly in front of the fireplace, a journal resting uselessly on his knee and an untouched drink on the table beside him.

"I feel old, Christine," Erik muttered.

She laughed first and frowned second. Erik was the passionate kind of man who would rage about something one minute, weep the next, and produce come beautifully inspired creation ten minutes later. Moping seemed dreadfully incongruous with his overall being. Christine was not sure she liked that.

_Best do something about it, then._

"Well, you're not," she reassured him.

That much was true, actually. Erik was not as old as he thought he was, or so Nadir explained once. The daroga was already grown and married by the time he met Erik, who was merely a boy at the time. If Erik was old now… then Nadir must be ancient. As this was not the case, it stood to reason that…

Well, Erik didn't care very much about _reason_. He had accumulated such an extensive reservoir of experiences that he could easily claim to be a hundred and fifty and still be convincing.

And really… it's not as if one could tell by looking at him.

"Mm," Erik hummed, noncommittally.

Christine came over and sat on the arm of his chair, kissing his forehead. She took off his mask and massaged his temples until his perpetual scowl relaxed a bit.

"What makes you say these things," she asked.

He shrugged. "We had these children. And they were so little…" he gestured with his hands, looking at his palms like he was holding something tiny. "And then… they grew up. And now they are adults who live on their own. One of them is married. But it feels like yesterday that _we _were just married. But it wasn't. And, when I think of that… I feel like an old man."

He paused for a moment, and then continued. "What are we supposed to do without them?"

"The same things we did before we had them," she answered. "We sang, we read, we…"

"Yes, yes, I know. And I enjoy those things still. It's just… different… without the constant threat of the house burning down."

Christine smirked and moved off the chair and placed herself in his lap. "Well," she mused, "if that is what you are worried about… we could always have another baby."

His responding grin was rather unholy. But in an endearing sort of way.

"As much as I like what you are implying, Christine," he said, enjoying the way her straddling position caused her skirts to ride up on her legs, "If you get pregnant from this, I shall be very vexed with you, indeed."

Christine gave a rather undignified snort as she laughed into his shoulder.

* * *

"Erik," Christine sang, wandering through the hall in search of her husband. "We have a letter!"

"Well, don't just stand there, woman… what does it say?"

"Stop sneaking up on me, you fiend! It isn't nice."

"I am not a nice person. Now, are you going to read it to me or aren't you?"

She huffed, by sat down anyway.

.

_Dearest Father and Mother,_

_I have embraced this opportunity to write these few lines, hoping they find you in good health as I am, at present, writing thanks be to God for it. Alexandre and I have…_

.

"Oh skip all that, Christine… you know I don't want to hear ten pages of inanities…"

Christine glared and Erik gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. Jeanette was every bit the proper and polite young lady. Naturally, Christine was ecstatic to have someone to correspond with, but Erik was never one for long flowery prose that, when broken down, actually said very little. Short and to the point, was his philosophy. There was too much to do in life without wading through unnecessary verbiage.

Luckily, he had a translator right there in the room.

"Well… let's see…" Christine said, skimming through the pages, "They loved Italy. Alexandre thanks you for the sight-seeing suggestions. You were right, the architecture was exquisite. He purchased a number of books while he was there that he is certain you will enjoy. Ooh… they are going to visit soon! Isn't that wonderful, Erik? Let's see… what else… Jeanette has been busy with all her charity work…"

"I bet Alexandre is thrilled about that," Erik scoffed.

It wasn't that their son believed that a woman should not step outside of her home… he just didn't like to share. Erik could relate to that. On the other hand, Jeanette was not the type of girl to be pushed around or put up with a domineering husband. No, those two were well matched. Erik could relate to that, also.

"It doesn't say…" Christine said, still reading, "But she did convince Alexandre to give music lessons at the local orphanage. That will be good for him, don't you agree, Erik?"

He agreed. Instead of picking a singular trade like medicine or architecture, as Erik had encouraged him to do, Alexandre decided to take on the business world as a whole. He regularly invested in struggling and failing businesses and personally turned them around. It was a delicate process, to which Alexandre thanked the inordinately well-rounded education he had received under his father's hand, but he had done quite well for himself in the short time since he left home.

The downside of all this was that Alexandre--having inherited Erik's obsessive personality--tended to overwork himself. Luckily, he had Jeanette to force him to relax and spend time with his music. Whenever they traveled, she made sure he spent at least a couple of days taking her sightseeing.

And now he had a hobby. How lovely.

"That's pretty much everything, then," Christine finished. The majority of the letter consisted of descriptions and details that Christine knew her husband cared nothing about. She would read it thoroughly later.

"Is there anything for me?" Erik asked, hopefully. Alexandre tended to tuck messages of his own in with Jeanette's letters. Sometimes they were little anecdotes that, for one reason or another, were unsuitable for mixed company. Sometimes they were math problems or puzzles he was sorting through. Or sometimes it would be a page of a newspaper or journal, highlighting an article and featuring Alexandre's written commentary in the margins. Erik had come to look forward to reading the informal communications written solely for him.

"Ah… yes… here it is."

Erik greedily ripped open the smaller envelope. It was short this time, as if hastily written on a ripped piece of scratch paper.

.

_Father,_

_She's pregnant. She can't have a baby--we haven't even been married two years yet! What the hell am I supposed to do?_

_-A_

.

"Are you going to write a response soon, Christine?"

"Yes, I was going to send them a letter tomorrow. Do you wish to include something?"

"Yes." He fetched a pen and scribbled a note on the back of Alexandre's message.

.

_Son,_

_Give it a chance. It's not as bad as you think._

_-E_

* * *

**The End.**

* * *


End file.
